


The Door

by soupmetaphors



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Kingsman Secret Santa 2015, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupmetaphors/pseuds/soupmetaphors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a door that Eggsy keeps expecting someone to open. Perhaps it never will. [ Written for the Kingsman Secret Santa 2K15]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lopsidedbloke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lopsidedbloke/gifts).



He keeps looking at the door, as if he expects it to open at any moment. The ‘tailors’ are giving him funny looks over their carefully-arranged piles of fabric. That should bother him, but, honestly, he’s too knackered to care.

How long has he been waiting for, anyways?

Sitting there in that armchair, same glass of scotch in his hand since this morning. Condensation dripping down his hand, onto his trousers, leaving dark splotches. He should brush them off. Should do something about this. And by ‘this’, he means the dark thing festering within, the emotions that had to be bottled for so long in the wake of a particular incident. 

Things had to be done. Arrangements had to be made as the world scrambled to find new leaders, to regain trust in each other. He, too, had to get his life back in order. Take up the mantle as the new Galahad, try to slip into that role as if its previous owner hadn’t been someone whom he looked up to, had been someone he _loved_.

He can admit that now. 

It hurts, sure, but admitting it now is better than taking it to his grave. At least the rest of them will understand. 

They haven’t brought him home from America. The old Galahad, he means. Something to do with their American counterparts, unauthorized missions on their turf, etc. The new Arthur is still negotiating with them, trying to appease them. Eggsy almost wishes they give him a hush-hush mission to get him home himself. 

But that would bring far too many consequences, for both the reputation of the Kingsman and Eggsy’s own mental health. 

His hand is starting to ache from holding the glass for an extended period of time. Puts it down on the nearest table, ignoring the whispers from the tailors. What do they know? Nothing much, besides nearly everything. 

He can almost make out what they’re saying- That he’s getting worst, that no one can calm him except the new Lancelot, especially during his sudden mood swings. They say that he might not be the same again.

They don’t know that he’s trying so hard to stop himself from breaking the mirrors, from smashing the wood. He’s not that person. It’s his emotions, all those strange things spilling out from a storage that hasn’t been opened in some time. He’s careful to hide this from his mother and Daisy. After all that has been going right for them, he doesn’t want to burden them with something new. 

He remembers how the rage just seizes him, how he has to excuse himself from meetings at the Round Table and stumble to the bathroom. His knuckles always get bloodied, his throat hoarse with screaming.

_How could you? How could you fucking change my life and leave me, you bastard?_

But no one ever replies. And when he retakes his seat, hiding his hands from sight, the rest of them exchange looks. They know he’s a puzzle with missing pieces, a toy that just won’t work exactly right anymore. 

Sometimes he hears Merlin give out instructions to him more gently than before. Sometimes he sees Gawain leaving bandages in places he knows Eggsy will find, after the anger has passed out of his system. They are kind to him, mostly, but they do not understand. 

He thinks Merlin could: He’s the old Galahad’s friend, after all. They had gone through training together, had pulled through. 

But Merlin copes in his own way, a way that Eggsy cannot. He uses the old Galahad’s name openly, he looks at ancient photos fondly, he tells Eggsy that although the pain runs deep, what his friend would have wanted was for them to go on. To soldier on, because, despite the fancy titles and suits, that is what they are. Soldiers, in a different way. 

Roxy comes over, sometimes. When his mother is working and it’s a slow day at the shop, when Daisy’s at daycare. She brings her dog to play with JB, puts on movies and popcorn for herself and Eggsy. 

He can only watch those movies halfway, before he gets sick of the blood-splattered scenes and characters that put bullet after bullet in each other’s heads. Sometimes he feels like he wants to cry into Roxy’s shoulder, to tell her that he honestly doesn’t know what he’s becoming, how waking up every day is a struggle he is starting to not want to face.

He never does. He doesn’t want to worry her, even though she’s at the Table long enough to see him return from his ‘bathroom breaks’. 

And now he’s thirsty. Only he wants to punish himself, so he denies getting his drink from the table. He figures he shouldn’t drink, it’ll only lead to places he doesn’t want to go, even if he’s halfway there already. 

The tailors have stopped whispering, going about their business. Good. He wants them to leave him the hell alone, to sit here and brood. Perhaps they’re closing for the night, or swapping shifts, whatever. 

His gaze is drawn back to the door again, and he wants to get up and open it, just to be sure. Somewhere out there, Arthur is still fighting to get the old Galahad home. Somewhere out there, there’s a house with butterflies in cases on the wall, a stuffed dog that hasn’t wagged its tail in years.

The key is in his pocket.

He can go there, if he wants. Go there and smash everything, set the place alight, just to spite himself and everyone else. He can do it. If he wills himself, if the rage pushes him right off the edge forever.

But he doesn’t rise from his seat.

A question from one of his mother’s old magazines, from that limbo between his father’s death and the boyfriend that came after: _If you had one chance to do something –anything- what would it be?_

For that door to open and the old Galahad to come striding in. For him to take Eggsy in his arms and apologize. For him to open the door, open the _goddamn fucking door, open it!_

He doesn’t realize he’s shouting until the ghastly quiet reaches him. Head snaps back to the tailors- They’re all looking at him, rather mortified. He can’t blame them. 

_Open the door, please, Harry, please._

Someone is knocking on the door, right now, in Eggsy’s head. Someone is knocking and he’s getting up, never mind the whispers and the statements of concern directed at him. 

Somehow, he’s going to get to that door. And when it opens, he’ll finally be able to feel again. 


End file.
